They flowed in quick succession

Browse

In silence, they fell. The silver tanned against the reflection of my skin,
Raw, dull – Not celebratory tear

They flowed in quick succession. No rhythm, no manner. Unguided,
Gaining speed with each dismissal, each hard word uttered,
They galloped, leaving the comfort of their home, now a bloodied red,
No finishing line in sight, their journey seemed unending,
Gnawing at the skin – their creator, now weakened and wearied, wrecked,
A muddle of emotions,
Anger. Fear. A tinge of annoyance.
Shame.
Hurt.
Confusion. Questions.